


Here There Be Dragons

by dkwilliams



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 19:53:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5061838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dkwilliams/pseuds/dkwilliams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a camping trip, Duncan discovers something unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here There Be Dragons

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a challenge in 1998

_Here there be dragons_.

The ancient mapmakers' warning had never before seemed so accurate. There certainly was a dragon, and even though it wasn't breathing fire or doing anything remotely threatening, it was dangerous none-the-less. Dangerous because it threatened to completely destroy Duncan MacLeod's equilibrium – not to mention his tenuous grip on sanity these days.

"God, MacLeod, that water is going to feel so good! How damn far did you make us hike today, anyway?"

Boots went flying, followed by jeans kicked impatiently free, and all Duncan's mind could think was _well, that answers the boxers or briefs question – neither_.

 

Here there be dragons.

 

Long legs were in motion, running towards the waiting pool of water. The dragon moved as well, flexing and writhing on that pale skin. Drawing Duncan's complete attention to the firm globes with the dark crevice between…

There was a loud whoop and then the dragon disappeared from view in a tremendous splash of water. Duncan didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved. A moment later, the lean form erupted from the pool's depths like a living waterspout, sending waves in every direction. Duncan thought abstractedly that his mouth could use some of that water as it suddenly seemed very, very dry. The sudden, unbidden image of his tongue lapping up moisture from the surface of that dragon made him instantly and painfully hard.

"MacLeod! Are you coming or not?"

 

_Coming. In my pants in about, oh, ten seconds._

 

Duncan averted his eyes from the pool and stood up, thankful that his jacket hid what felt like the hardest erection of his life. "No. I – um – I'm going to - gather some firewood. For the fire."

"Suit yourself."

Duncan heard a splashing behind him and couldn't help glancing back at the water, then wished he hadn't. Methos had rolled over in the water and was floating on his belly, his head cradled on his arms. Sunlight caught the sleek lines of red and green against the white background, making the whole image gleam.

 

_Here there be dragons_

 

He moaned and fled into the woods.

When he returned a long time later, arms full of deadwood, the dragon had moved onto land. Its owner paced back and forth between the water's edge and nearby bushes, which Duncan could see were now festooned with damp garments. Evidently Methos had taken advantage of the opportunity to wash out his sweat-stained clothes. Duncan felt his own body responding to that; his skin itched with dried sweat, and he knew that both he and his clothes reeked.

"There you are!" Methos called out cheerfully, seemingly unconcerned with his own nudity. "I was beginning to get worried. What happen, Boy Scout – forget your compass?"

Duncan dumped the pile of wood on the ground, irritation with the other Immortal making his traitorous body lose some of its ardor. "I don't see you doing anything to help. You could have at least started dinner."

Rather than snapping back a sarcastic comment as Duncan expected, Methos simply raised an eyebrow and said, "I'll get started on that while you have a wash."

Duncan flushed at the idea of getting naked in front of Methos while he was so aroused, but Methos had turned away to fetch their packs and wasn't paying him the slightest bit of attention. Conversely, that made Duncan feel irritated, and he stomped down to the rocks ringing the natural pool, defiantly shed his clothes, and dove in.

The coolness of the water soothed his flushed and overheated body. Methos was right – it did feel good. He glanced over at the campsite and immediately wished he hadn't. Methos, still naked as the day he was born, was crouched over the pack. Duncan could clearly see the long, white legs, the taut buttocks, and the tattoo that graced the swell of the right cheek.

 

_Here there be dragons._

 

His body responded instantly, and with an intensity that made Duncan supremely grateful that he was chest deep in water as he hastily turned away. His skin felt flushed with fever, his heart was pounding, and his tongue felt too big for his suddenly dry mouth. He was so hard that, if he'd been alone, his hand would have been wrapped around his cock. _Or, better still, Methos' hand,_ his traitorous libido supplied, and he couldn't help groaning at that image.

He could feel himself flushing even more, and moved deeper into the water – and further away from Methos. This was ridiculous! He was over four hundred years old, and he was acting like a virgin schoolboy with his first lover. Which he wasn't. Not a virgin, not a schoolboy, and definitely not with his lover.

 _Methos is a friend,_ he told himself firmly. _Nothing more. And that's the way we both want it to be._

Not that there hadn't been some flirting between the two of them throughout most of their friendship. Methos' teasing eyes raking down his body, his invitation for Duncan to make himself at home in Methos' house and, by extension, his bed. Duncan had teased back, swiping the old Immortal's nose with paint, verbally sparring with him, physically sparring with him…If Richie hadn't come in that day, who knows what might have happened? But he had come in, and there had been a series of interruptions from then on: Claudia and Alexa, Dark Quickenings and a Watcher tribunal. Kronos. Cassandra. The Horsemen. Byron.

It had taken a long time for them to recover, to get to the point where they could be friends again. His own hallucination or dream or _whatever_ it was had pointed up just how important Methos was to Duncan's world. His tentative words of acceptance and understanding, badly phrased as they had been, had been accepted by Methos with quiet joy and they had settled into an increasingly more comfortable friendship.

So when, six months after that milestone, Duncan had gotten fed up with Paris and headhunters, he'd managed to convince a reluctant Methos to accompany him on an excursion into the wilderness. He'd expected to enjoy Methos' company, the old Immortal's pithy comments about anything and everything, his competence even as he complained.

But Duncan hadn't expected that damned dragon.

He heard noises at the campsite behind him, and his mind supplied an image of Methos starting the fire, bending over it to add more wood _._

_Bent over, that tattoo temptingly displayed, while Duncan rutted like an animal behind him, plundering the sleek, warm body, hearing cries of pleasure beneath him…_

He bit his lip as he came, his hand pumping his cock desperately. He didn't even remember reaching for himself, and now he was shuddering through the aftermath of orgasm and hoping that Methos hadn't heard him. Well, at least he'd taken the edge off, he thought with a sigh as he rinsed off evidence of his pleasure. And that's what this was all about, right? He'd been too long without relief and his mind had seized on the only available partner. He'd be fine, just fine now. Right?

"Dinner's ready," Methos' voice called out behind him. Duncan turned – and started cursing under his breath.

Methos was no longer naked. He had pulled on his low boots and a pair of ragged cut-offs that had clearly seen better days. The seam along the zipper had separated in places, giving tantalizing glimpses of flesh and dark, curly hair. The back right pocket had disintegrated sometime in the not-too-distant past, leaving a dark blue splash of color stamped on the nearly-white piece of cloth, right over that tattoo…

Duncan groaned. It was going to be a long, long evening.

Things got worse. Methos had dished each of them a bowl of something that claimed to be stroganoff. It was nearly tasteless but it was hot, and Duncan dug into his portion eagerly. And then nearly choked to death as Methos crouched by the fire in front of him to throw on more wood. Crouched in a way that made the waistband of the loose shorts dip just enough for Duncan to glimpse the top of tattoo and the shadowed entrance to Methos' body.

 

_Here there be dragons._

 

"Are you all right, Mac?" Methos asked in concern, turning to pound him on the back.

Duncan nodded frantically. Methos was close – too close. Duncan's body was screaming at him to pull Methos even closer, to slide his hands into that narrow gap between fabric and skin, to trace the outline of the tattoo and then the sweet opening with his fingers.

 

_Or with his tongue._

 

"Drink," he managed to gasp, and Methos handed him a thermos of water. Duncan drank from it greedily, focusing his attention on the cool water and not on the warm body across from him.

"All right now?" Methos asked, and Duncan nodded. "Something go down wrong?"

 

_Go down…_

 

The mental image nearly made Duncan groan and did nothing to quell his rampant erection, but he managed to croak out, "Yes."

Methos settled back down by the fire and turned his attention back to his own food, for which Duncan was supremely grateful. "Better take that slowly, then."

 

_I want to take **you** slowly, he thought. And fast, and hard, and…_

 

Deliberately, he forced his mind away from the images his libido was producing, and he concentrated on the plate in his hands. "This is good," he said with a heartiness that sounded patently false, even to his own ears.

Methos snorted. "You have _got_ to be kidding. This is that freeze-dried backpacking crap you brought. Tasteless and overpriced."

"Better than some meals I've had on the trail," Duncan managed to say. "And I didn't see you packing anything better."

"Hey, this is your little expedition. You provide the supplies, I provide the companionship and witty conversation."

Duncan rolled his eyes. "Right. How could I have forgotten that?"

"Brain damaged as a child comes to mind."

"So if you don't like my food, Mr. Gourmet, what are you planning on eating for the next three days?"

Methos shrugged. "There's a trout stream feeding off this pool."

"No fishing tackle, remember? Maybe it's _you_ that's brain damaged."

Methos grinned. "Didn't you ever learn how to tickle trout, Mac?"

Duncan pictured those strong, slender fingers playing along the belly of a fish just before Methos snatched it from the water and, without thinking, said, "You can tickle my belly."

"Mac?"

Methos' voice was incredulous and, too late, Duncan realized that he'd spoken out loud. He bent over his plate, pretending he hadn't spoken, although he knew that his face was flushed again.

"Did you just say what I _think_ you just said?"

"I didn't say anything," Duncan said feebly.

 

_Right. Like **that** was going to convince the world's oldest and best liar._

 

"Yes, you did." Clearly, Methos wasn't going to let this go. "You said that I could tickle you. Now I want to know what you meant by that."

Duncan refused to meet Methos' eyes. "What do you want it to mean?" he asked evasively.

"Oh, no. We are _not_ playing that game." Duncan could tell that Methos had set down his plate and was moving closer to him, like a cat stalking its prey.

 

_Like a dragon, swooping down on its kill._

 

"I want to know what _you_ wanted it to mean, Duncan MacLeod."

Methos crouched down in front of him, and Duncan couldn't avoid the intensity of his eyes. "I…um…I…Methos…"

Methos suddenly smiled widely, a look Duncan hadn't seen on his face since the old Immortal had spotted Byron in the bar that first night. Duncan's heart began to race as he realized for the first time just how much he'd been longing to see that smile on Methos' face again – but for _him_.

"I don't think we need this anymore."

The plate and spoon were plucked from Duncan's suddenly nerveless fingers, but he couldn't care less because a pair of warm lips were pressed against his own. "Duncan," Methos murmured against his lips.

Duncan licked his lips, tasting the trace of Methos on them, and said, hoarsely, "Methos."

Methos' mouth descended on his again, capturing the moan that followed. Duncan wrapped his arms around Methos, hauling him into his lap. Methos readily complied, straddling Duncan's lap and wrapping his legs around his waist. The feeling of their groins pressed together, separated only by a few layers of cloth, made Duncan groan again. His right hand fumbled with the button and zipper on those worn shorts, even as his left hand slid down the back to cup one firm ass cheek and pull them closer together.

Methos' mouth continued ravaging his as they moved together, too desperate to stop to undress. Duncan felt the waves of climax roll over him, even as he heard Methos' groaning response and felt his shuddering completion.

Methos' head dropped forward to rest on his shoulder, and Duncan wrapped his arms tightly around his new lover's body. "Methos," he murmured, and turned his head to nuzzle at the other Immortal's neck.

He felt Methos' laugh rather than heard it, and couldn't help grinning in response. "God, I've been waiting for that for so long…" Methos said with a contented sigh.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Duncan asked, continuing to nuzzle. He felt Methos' delicious shudder and added teeth to the attention he was paying to that elegant neck.

"Didn't think you were ready yet," Methos said, tilting his head. Duncan took advantage of the invitation to suck at the join between neck and shoulder. "Speaking of which, what happened?"

"Tattoo," Duncan muttered against Methos' skin. He felt his body flush with mingled desire and embarrassment at the memory of that tattoo.

"What?"

Duncan sighed and raised his head. "Your tattoo. It – well – it turned me on."

Methos gave him a disbelieving look, and then his lips curved into a smile before he started laughing. He laughed so hard that tears ran down his cheeks and he had to bury his face against Duncan's shoulder

"What's so funny?" Duncan asked crossly. So it was stupid to have fallen head over ass because of a tattoo, but did Methos have to rub it in? He pushed at Methos, trying to shove him off his lap, but Methos just clung tighter to him.

"You want – to know – why I – got it?" Methos asked between hiccupping laughs.

Duncan wasn’t sure if he did. The tattoo looked fairly new – or else it had been touched up recently – and Duncan certainly didn't want to know that it was linked to something in Methos' past like Kronos or Byron. Learning that it had been a "college stunt" would have been better but something of a let-down. He wasn't sure that he wanted the mysterious eroticism behind that tattoo to be destroyed. On the other hand, Methos clearly wanted to tell him and he didn't want to discourage his new lover from telling him anything about his past… assuming Methos wanted to be lovers and that this wasn't just a one-off.

"Okay," he said finally.

Methos seemed to have gotten his laughter under control. "It was after the Watcher's tribunal. After – "

"Jakob Galati," Duncan said, noting his lover's reluctance to say the name.

Methos nodded. "I left Paris right after that – well, you know that. I went to Tibet, to a place where I go when I want to think. I was – confused, didn't know who I was anymore. Methos. Adam Pierson. Watcher. Immortal. I suppose I knew I had to make a choice, one I didn't want to make."

Duncan nodded. "And you chose Methos, the Immortal."

"No. I acknowledged that I had already made a choice, years earlier," Methos said. "So I had the Watcher tattoo removed, but I felt I needed a symbol of the choice I'd made."

Duncan frowned, puzzled. "So you had a tattoo of a dragon put on your butt?"

"Duncan," Methos said, amused, "Do you know anything about Chinese astrology?"

"A little," Duncan admitted. "I remember Amanda was interested in it and figured out that I was born in the Year of the Dragon…" His voice trailed off and he stared at Methos, wide-eyed.

Methos shrugged, and there was a little smile on his face. "I thought it was more subtle than tattooing 'property of Duncan MacLeod' on my arse. Not that I knew for certain if you _wanted_ me to be - "

Duncan didn't give him the opportunity to say anything more as he swooped in for another kiss, possessing and devouring Methos' mouth. His hands moved desperately over Methos' body, touching every inch of flesh he could reach. Frustrated by his inability to get to all the skin under the shorts, he pushed Methos back so he could take them off.

Methos chuckled and caught his hands, stilling him. "Not in the fire, Duncan. I doubt either of us would enjoy that."

Duncan glanced over at the sleeping bags spread out to the side and pushed himself to his feet, dragging Methos with him. They fell gracelessly on top of the bags but neither one cared as they resumed their kissing and touching. Clothes were ripped off and tossed aside, and Duncan returned to his task of mapping every inch of his lover's body. He rolled Methos over onto his belly and finally got a close-up view of that tattoo.

"It's beautiful," he murmured, running his fingers over the dragon. "So very beautiful." He bent down and ran his tongue over the image, tasting the warm flesh, while his fingers continued stroking and caressing.

"Duncan," Methos said, his voice rough with passion. Duncan understood his lover's plea – he needed something more, too, needed to feel Methos inside him. Which brought up a problem.

"Damn," he muttered, sitting back on his heels as he tried to collect his thoughts enough to inventory his backpack for possible lubricant substitutes. Methos rolled over and reached for his backpack. After a moment of rummaging, he produced a small bottle, and Duncan grinned.

"An odd item to pack on a camping trip," he said. "One might think you were planning this."

Methos gave him an amused look. "I like to be prepared for such possibilities."

Duncan took the bottle and poured a generous amount in his hand, then reached over to apply it to Methos' cock. He saw Methos' questioning look and nodded. "I want you inside me."

Methos didn't hesitate, pushing Duncan down on his belly on the sleeping bags. A few minutes later, he was easing his way into Duncan's body, thrusting in tiny increments until he was fully seated. Duncan groaned as the delicious pressure advanced and retreated, feeling the leashed power behind Methos' thrusts. He could picture that firm, pale ass flexing with each movement, could see the tattooed dragon moving as if in flight. He had a moment to wonder if Methos would object to a mirror in their bedroom before Methos' thrust made an explosion of sensation light up his body.

"God!"

"All right?" Methos asked, his voice breathless, and Duncan managed a quick nod.

"Yes! Now move!"

Methos chuckled. "Pushy, aren't we?"

Duncan turned his head and glared at him, but a second later his eyes rolled back in his head as Methos began thrusting into his body with long, leisurely strokes. Duncan reached back, desperate to touch his lover's flesh, and grasped firm, rounded flesh. Somehow, he knew that the tattoo was under his hand now, and he could feel it burning itself into his palm, branding him with the touch and taste and sound of Methos. He laughed breathlessly at that. Methos had branded him years ago; it had just taken him this long to realize the truth. And with that realization, he gave into the fire racing through his body, pulling Methos over the edge with him as he fell.

Duncan came back to the muzzy awareness that there was a deadweight resting on his back, a wet spot under his belly, and a rapturous tingling throughout his body. A laugh escaped him, and he felt the body on top of him shift, then soft lips pressed against his neck.

"Feeling good, are we?" Methos' voice murmured in his ear, and the husky sound of it stirred a faint interest in Duncan's spent cock.

"Mmm." Duncan bucked slightly against Methos' weight, tingling at the discovery that Methos was still buried inside him. "Love you."

There was a sharp intake of breath from the man behind him, then Methos had carefully withdrawn and was pulling at his shoulder. Duncan readily turned over and met Methos' doubtful eyes, smiling his reassurance.

"No, it's not just the sex talking," he said softly, reaching up to trace Methos' lips with a fingertip. "Maybe _I_ should get a tattoo, put 'property of Methos' somewhere on my body. Any suggestions?"

"I can think of a couple," Methos said, then claimed Duncan's mouth insistently, and all rational thoughts fled.

 

Several hours later, Duncan lay curled around his sleeping lover. Sated and exhausted, relishing the pleasurable aches all over his body that Immortal healing would all too soon take away, Duncan found he couldn't fall asleep quite yet. His hand drifted over his sleeping lover's body, coming to rest on the tattooed flesh, one finger tracing over the dragon image. Methos stirred sleepily and nuzzled closer but did not awake, and Duncan smiled contentedly.

 

_Here there be dragons._

 

The End


End file.
